


Primum Non Nocere

by local_enginerd



Series: From the Ashes [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Pharmercy (Overwatch)
Genre: F/F, but the lens is the entire fucking Hippocratic Oath, they're gay as fuck, this is basically a critical lens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_enginerd/pseuds/local_enginerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy was fearless and universally loved; a guardian angel always where the world needed her. Doctor Ziegler was the one cooped up in research labs. Angela was the woman still tried to bear the world on her shoulders, even when falling in love with a certain Fareeha Amari. </p><p>Or alternatively, snippets of Angela Ziegler seen through the Hippocratic Oath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Praeceptori Honorem Facere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praeceptori Honorem Facere - To honor a teacher.
> 
> I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.

Overlooking the cliff of the Watchpoint, the medbay was remote and, fortunately for a certain Swiss doctor, extremely quiet.

In fact, it was so quiet that she hadn’t noticed the holiday party or even the chorus of cheers that erupted during an arm-wrestling match between Reinhardt and Winston.

(The latter had been coerced into the contest with the promise of a great deal of peanut butter.)

Angela Ziegler glanced at the clock in the medbay. The numbers began to swim before her eyes and, when she finally managed to decipher them, Angela realized that she had been cooped up with her research for almost two days. With a groan, she swiveled around in her chair, suddenly acutely aware of the crick in her lower back. The only audience to her frustration was the sterilized surfaces of the medical equipment; the base was relatively empty during the holidays, so there were a lot fewer patients wandering in with injuries from training mishaps.

“Athena, could you have one of the drones deli-”

Before the doctor could finish requesting her dinner, the doors to the medbay slid open, revealing a very out of breath Ana Amari.

“Recognized: Lieutenant Commander Amari,” Athena prompted, the AI’s voice echoing off the stark walls of the medbay. A small medical drone awoke and Athena’s voice chirped out of it. “Shall I perform a scan, doctor?”

Angela rose out of her chair and stepped forward, both out of respect and to hide the evidence that she’d been in the room so long.  _Mama Bear would certainly disapprove of her work habits._

“That won’t be necessary, Athena,” Angela turned, giving Ana a quick once-over. When she came to a diagnosis, the doctor grinned. “I take it that Fareeha is on base?”

Ana raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with the doctor’s ability to read her patients.

“Your beret is missing,” Angela said, without skipping a beat. She had noted that young Fareeha had developed a habit of wearing Ana’s beret any chance she could get her hands on it. Seeing Ana without it meant that Fareeha was in the vicinity, probably wreaking havoc with Jesse or Lena. “If I had to hazard another guess, you’re looking for her?”

Out of habit, Ana’s cybernetic eye swept across the room. All the curtains had been drawn, with the exception of the ones on the window where Angela had placed her menorah. Ana continued, but paused abruptly, a frown stretching across her face. Her gaze had landed on the stacks of medical papers and journals that had been piled up on Angela's desk.

Slowly, she turned back to the doctor to confirm her guess. Angela wasn't the only one with a keen sense of observation.

“You’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday," Ana's lips flattened. "And...the day before?”

 _As if I could get anything past a world-class sniper_ , the doctor thought.

“Y-yes, I may have gotten carried away with my work," Angela admitted sheepishly. _Scheisse, there’s no hiding anything from Ana._ She gestured to the armor behind her, propped up in a mechanical case and connected to her computer with a mass of wires.

“But I’m close to a breakthr-”

“You’re not going to leave the lab until you’ve finished that flight suit, are you? Not even for the holiday party?” Ana interrupted, in a tone that was usually reserved for a misbehaving Fareeha.

The young doctor quietly shook her head and Ana switched gears. Angela wasn't like the other recruits, she was far more clever and outsmarting her would require a more delicate approach.

"Not even for...hot chocolate? I've even ordered a shipment of the good chocolate from Switzerland," the sniper teased, but Angela didn't take the bait. 

_An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, then._

The standoff continued for a moment before Ana had another bright idea. If Angela wasn't even budging on the promise of food, she was surely a lost cause but, dancing around the political red tape for years had taught her that there was always another, albeit less direct, way. Ana shrugged and dropped her gaze, seemingly surrendering.

“Athena, send a set of drones to sweep the base for Fareeha,” the soldier huffed. Ana stepped around the doctor, giving Angela's table of prototypes an apprehensive glance. “That’ll take care of one of you. But I swear, I’ll get you out of the lab before the day ends.”

"Ma'am?" Angela spluttered. She'd clearly expected Ana to simply drag her out of the medbay.

“Well, two heads are better than one,” the lieutenant commander replied, unfazed. As Jack’s second, Ana had more contact with members of the strike team, as Jack was often preoccupied with paperwork whenever he wasn’t on a mission. She kept a close cybernetic eye on everyone and much to her chagrin, they referred to her as ‘Mama Bear’ in return.

“You're still figuring out how to administer the nanotechnology, no? I may be able to help.” Ana turned to face one of the monitors, back to using her ‘commander voice’. “Athena, please project Archive 00232.”

On cue, a machine whirred to life and in a few moments, a hard-light model of the requested device materialized, bathing the room in a warm, blue glow. Angela stepped forwards, eyebrows knitted together. She studied the model with an intensity that mirrored Ana’s behind the scope of a rifle.

"I'll give you a moment, dear." Ana slipped away into the doctor's office to fix herself a cup of tea.

The model was some sort of wrist-mounted launcher, compact enough to hide in one’s sleeve. Its rounded surface slid away to reveal a slot that could house a small, cylindrical projectile. As Angela toyed with the projection, expanding it to examine the inner workings, the sniper took a step back, about to launch her plan into action.

“It’s designed to launch small payloads, be it a grenade or a nanocapsule. You could design a dart with your nanotechnology,” Ana interjected, as if reading the doctor’s thoughts. “It’s mobile enough for you to move freely over a battlefield, yes?”

The Swiss doctor considered it briefly before her lips flattened into a frown.

_No, it’s too much like the biotic rifle Torbjörn had proposed a few weeks ago. This could be devastating in the wrong hands; anyone could control her nanobots like this._

“Lieutenant Commander,” Angela paused, searching for the words. The intensity had given way to a quiet rage. “With all due respect, this would mean a weaponization of my work. What if someone programmed the nanobots in reverse?"

Ana said nothing, simply taking a sip of her tea.

“Is this Torbjörn’s doing? Maybe I should have another word with him,” the doctor scrutinized the design again. Her brows had knit together and Ana could practically see the steam coming from her ears.

“Well,” Ana supplied helpfully. “Last I saw, he was in the mess hall. For the holiday party.”

Pulling off her lab coat, Angela stormed out of the medbay, Ana close on her heels. The second they cleared the sterilization chamber, Ana spoke.

“Athena, lock the medbay doors. Don’t let the good doctor back in until she gets a meal and a full night’s rest.”

Realizing that she had been tricked, Angela spun on her heels, that cool rage now focused onto the lieutenant commander. Most people on the receiving end of the doctor’s glare would have been filled with a strong urge to wet themselves, but Ana was well, Ana. She bravely placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder.

The doctor ignored her.

“Athena,” Angela was speaking at a volume worthy of Reinhardt. “Override. Open the doors.”

“Negative. Insufficient clearance.”

“ _Gottverdammt!”_

“Angela, relax. That design was one of my own, never cleared for prototyping. You have nothing to worry about,” Ana spoke calmly. “I had to get you out of the lab. You’re the youngest member of the unit, yet you work harder than any of us. You remind me of myself.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Terrible,” Ana bit back a grin, the Eye of Horus tattoo under her left eye crinkling. “And if you all are going to call me ‘Mama’, then I’m going to live up to that title.”

With the battle of wills lost, Angela visibly sunk into her lab coat, clearly outsmarted.

* * *

Fareeha Amari brushed her fingertips gingerly across the gilded surface of the Valkryie suit’s halo. She withdrew her hand when she heard footsteps behind her and addressed the doctor without turning to face Angela. 

“Can I ask why I’ve been locked out of the armory? And ordered into the medbay, Dr. Ziegler?” The captain speech was clipped, showing the respect due to a superior officer and nothing more.

“Relax, Athena tells me that you’ve been in there without a break for almost a day,” Angela replied. “I’ve temporarily revoked your clearance until you take care of yourself.”

The words echoed in her memory as she spoke.

“The Raptora system is not mission ready,” the younger Amari channeled her most authoritative tone. “If we were told to deploy now, lives would be at risk. You have to let me back into the armory.”

“What, you don’t have enough rockets on that killing machine, Captain?” Angela pursed her lips; she had never been fond of the militarized approach Overwatch had taken in ‘peacekeeping’, but the Raptora suit seemed like overkill, even by their standards.

But, as soon as the words left her mouth, Angela wished she could take them back. Fareeha, still facing the armor, stiffened.

The air between the women turned cold. Neither one of them spoke.

“I need to modify the armor _because_ of the rockets,” Fareeha admitted. She turned from the Valkyrie's display case and furrowed her brow. Her tone softened, as if making an embarrassing confession. “Helix never designed the armor with a non-lethal option to neutralize enemy combatants.”

The doctor froze, taken aback and breath caught in her throat. Perhaps Fareeha was not the ruthless Amari soldier she had pegged her as. Angela turned away from her patient. She steadied herself, blinking owlishly and regaining her composure.

“Athena, pull it up. Archive 00232,” she sighed. It was the second time today she heard not her own voice, but Ana’s instead. Her tone softened. “Fareeha, this was something your mother had designed. We could probably build a concussive charge or a tranquilizer device for it...”

As she trailed off, Angela faced Fareeha, studying the younger woman’s face. She radiated the same Amari charisma that Ana did. It was familiar, but the tattoo Fareeha sported under the eye opposite her mother’s. The young girl who used to run around the base with her mother's beret now had one of her own. 

"I'm sorry for what I said before," said Angela, speaking for the benefit of both of them. "I've just been on edge since the recall."

Fareeha glanced at the device that Athena had projected before her, scrutinizing every inch. She cleared her throat and her gaze flickered back to Angela.

“And I apologize for snapping at you as well. Should we discuss this over lunch?” Finally, the soldier spoke, turning a bit red and jolting Angela out of her reverie. Fareeha lowered her gaze and suddenly developed a fascination with the tiles on the floor of the medbay. “You did lock me out of the armory until I ate.”

“Yes, of course,” Angela replied. “I didn’t mean to keep you holed up here.”

The doctor stepped around Fareeha, setting her lab coat onto a nearby chair. She probably needed a break as well.

“So...Doctor, are you still _grounding_ me?”

Angela could practically feel the shit-eating grin plastered on Fareeha’s face.

_Of course, the pun was intended._

"Call me Angela, there's no need for formalities here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had noticed that the device Pharah launches her concussive blast with is quite similar in appearance to the one Ana houses her nanoboost in...
> 
> 5/9/17 EDIT: Minor changes to the prose, moved a few lines around. Since the Uprising event, we got little snippets of lore so I've updated references in this chapter.


	2. Remedium Optimum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remedium Optimum - The best medicine.
> 
> I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.

“ _Ah-achoo!_ ”

Fareeha Amari shivered into her blanket (her third one, to be precise). The proud captain had severely underestimated how _cold_ Zurich could be. As a result, she was cooped up with a cold in this Watchpoint’s makeshift medbay - Doctor Ziegler’s quarters.

She gave the room a once-over, noting the stacks of paper on Angela’s desk but also the pictures that adorned the walls. The heroes that Fareeha plastered to her own walls as a child peeked out from dozens of picture frames. They all looked so _human_. Even Angela could be caught laughing in many of the snapshots.

Fareeha had been trying to wiggle the warmth back into her toes for the past fifteen minutes, but was interrupted before she could complete the endeavor.

“That one was taken at Reinhardt’s birthday party.” The aforementioned doctor peeked out from her kitchen. She could just make out the Fareeha-sized mass of blankets on her couch. “You were looking at the old pictures, _ja_?”

“I apologize,” Fareeha replied. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Clad in nothing more than an old t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and slippers, Angela Ziegler padded across the room to her patient.

 _That’s not fair_ , Fareeha thought. _How can Angela make the cold look so comfortable?_

The doctor's hair was pulled up into a ponytail, but a few unruly strands of her golden hair were waving about. Fareeha resisted an urge to reach out and smooth the flyaway hair, choosing to fiddle with the edge of her hoodie instead.

“Did you take the medicine yet, Fareeha?” Angela's voice pulled the soldier back to reality.

“I dun need tha medicin’.” From her position on the couch, Fareeha peeked out from under the fabric. She coughed and made a feeble attempt at a glare. “I dun geh sick.”

Despite the fact that Fareeha normally towered over her, Angela could not help but notice how small the soldier looked right now. It was endearing, even. She crossed her arms and stared down the bridge of her nose.

“In my expert opinion, you’re pretty sick now.” Angela raised an eyebrow, trying (and failing) to stifle her mirth. The normally stoic Fareeha had been reduced to a shaky mess wearing two pairs of thermal socks and a hoodie. “You’re not leaving this couch until you take the medicine.”

Even with the extra layers and blankets, Fareeha felt the icy bite of a Swiss winter. She curled into an even smaller ball at Angela’s tone. Fareeha couldn’t leave the couch if she wanted too, but she prayed Angela didn’t know that.

(Angela most certainly did.)

Angela also knew that the mixture of Amari stubbornness and pride would prevent Fareeha from accepting the treatment. She had to play dirty.

“If you don’t take your medicine, you don’t get any of this nice, warm soup I’ve made.” Angela stepped aside to reveal a medical drone equipped with a small tray. “Or is the brave and heroic Captain Amari afraid of _cough syrup_?”

Instantly, Fareeha perked up. She narrowed her eyes at Angela, the Eye of Horus tattoo crinkling as she did so. Her gaze darted between the bowl of soup and the doctor.

_Checkmate. Oh, she was good._

Even with her sense of smell hampered, Fareeha could still catch a whiff of the savory meal. Her brows knit together and she scrutinized the container of medicine on the coffee table, as if sizing up an enemy before a kill.

_It’s now or never, Amari._

Without breaking eye contact, Fareeha reached out and snatched the medicine. The cold air bared its teeth against her skin and she shuddered. Fareeha brought the cup to her lips and downed it in a single gulp.

_Bottoms up, then._

Fareeha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing a grin over the bitter taste of the cough syrup. She retreated into the blankets once again, looking more smug than Aleks after an arm-wrestling match.

The doctor stared, just a hint of amusement twinkling in her eyes. Despite the fact that she had a cold, Fareeha was still Fareeha. Bold and unafraid of a challenge, just like in the Fareeha that Angela had come to know in battle.

For a second, Angela couldn’t help but wonder whether Fareeha downed shots of alcohol the same way. A small voice in the back of her mind jolted her from the reverie: _Perhaps you should ask her out sometime and find out for yourself._

Angela reddened at the thought and prayed Fareeha was too focused on the food to notice. She turned to leave.

“Ah, well. I’ll leave you to the soup then.”

“Whad if I’m still cold?” Charm dialed to a maximum, Fareeha smirked at the doctor. “Berhaps you cud join me an’ help me warm ub, then.”

In the past few weeks, the two had fallen into a sort of little dance. Always the charmer, Fareeha had taken a liking to getting a certain Swiss doctor as flustered as humanly possible. Even when she’s sicker than Lúcio’s latest album, apparently.

_Two can play at that game._

Unbeknownst to Fareeha, quick-witted Angela could fire back just as easily with flirtations of her own.

“How very forward of you, Captain Amari.” The doctor felt her smirk from across the room. Without missing a beat, she replied. “Most women tend to buy me dinner before slipping into my bed, but for you, I may make an exception.”

 _This is it. This is how it ends for me._ Fareeha’s eyes widened and she nearly choked on her soup. She felt a blush blooming across her cheeks and her heart pounded in her chest. Angela had never flirted back before. She had wondered if Angela even noticed her advances.

_I guess this wasn’t as one-sided as I thought._

She glued her eyes to the floor and willed herself to breathe, counting breaths as if lining up a shot. However, her mind had other plans. _Wait if I choke, will Doctor Ziegler have to resuscitate me? She’ll have to put her mouth on mine oh my go-_

“Is your throat still bothering you?” The doctor was grinning from ear to ear. “Or am I going to have to kiss it better, Captain Amari?”

Fareeha wanted to scream. She could barely contain her panic, hoping that her dark complexion would hide the furious blush across her face. For a woman whose callsign was “Mercy”, Angela certainly showed a lack of it.

Before she could protest, Fareeha realized that the doctor was giggling. She stifled a cough, afraid that it would ruin the moment. Wrapping the blankets more tightly around herself, Fareeha couldn't help but feel as if she was intruding on the scene and looked away.  

_I haven’t seen her this happy since before the recall._

She glanced back at the doctor and felt a smile of her own bubble up.

Maybe catching a cold wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by Mercy's new laugh emote. I'm so fucking gay you don't understand.


	3. Manes Caeci Terrendi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manes Caeci Terrendi - The Dark Shades that Haunt.
> 
> I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.

It is a well known thing among the agents that Angela survives on caffeine and sheer willpower alone. But at the end of the day, the good doctor is still human. And her turtleneck is just so cozy. And she could certainly take a moment to lean back in her chair and stretch out the crick in her back. And no amount of coffee can keep her awake forever.

And that is how, despite her insistence that she would not yield until reaching a breakthrough, world-renowned workaholic Angela Ziegler falls asleep on her keyboard.

Her sleep is as peaceful as it can get for someone as restless as she. Perhaps she even drools into her notes (not that she’d ever admit to doing that), but her work demands that Angela be a light sleeper.  

A rustling noise in the medbay jarred the doctor from her sleep. She lifted her head off the desk, brushing off a few papers that had become stuck to her cheek. The nanotechnology was always within reach and Angela instinctively turned to her equipment before a voice cut in.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you, doctor.”

Angela rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and felt around for her glasses. She could just make out the silhouette of a certain Fareeha Amari in the dimmed lights of the medbay. 

“Fareeha? Is everything alright?” Formalities forgotten, a groggy Angela rose from her chair. She barely noticed the knots in her neck and shoulders, far more concerned with Fareeha’s visit. She frowned at the clock, the numbers swimming before her eyes before they came into focus. “It’s three in the morning.”

As the doctor tugged on her glasses, Fareeha nudged the drawer of medical supplies closed behind her, grimacing at the screeching noise it made.

Like a child caught red-handed, the commander took a few steps back. She bit the inside of her cheek, gaze trained on the medbay floor.

Fareeha’s hair was unkempt, her brows knit together in frustration as she toyed with the hem of her sweater. Angela studied her face again and noted the sweat beading down the soldier’s temple.

_ She looks more like a bird, ready to take flight than the composed and stoic commander. _

“Fareeha, you can talk to me.” Angela began, uncertain. She took a few cautious steps towards Fareeha and placed a hand on her arm. “Did something happen?”

“I-it’s nothing, doctor.” Fareeha grimaced, slowly making eye contact with the doctor. She tensed under Angela’s touch, but didn’t pull away. “I just, ah, had trouble sleeping. I was looking for something to help me calm down.” _   
_

The commander was already backing towards the automatic doors which began to open. “I’ll be fine, sorry to bother you.”

“It’s the nightmares, isn’t it?” Angela’s voice rings out clearly across the room.

When the doors close, Fareeha Amari is still inside the medbay. The doctor’s words hang dangerously in the air.

“We all get them,” Angela stated plainly. She closed her eyes and suddenly, it’s Zurich all over again. The rubble around her, bits and pieces all in the wrong order. A wall from the mess hall. Papers from the offices. And, oh  _ mein Gott _ , the smell. The smell of burning flesh. The sound, too. Sirens and screams. 

She looked up, and met Fareeha’s gaze. Angela didn’t trust herself to speak.

_ Even me _ , she wanted to say. Instead, she cleared her throat and turned her attentions back onto her patient. “What’s really the problem?”

As Fareeha shifted from foot to foot, Angela quietly poured two cups of tea (she would have preferred coffee, but this would be far more conducive to the conversation about to happen). 

After they settle on the couch, the doctor waits for Fareeha to speak in her own time. While the commander moves with confidence on the battlefield, always sure where her shots will land, she is noticeably less so when her only tools are her words. 

“The team chose me as the new Strike Commander,” Fareeha stated, her voice level and quiet. “Even over the original members of Overwatch; it’s a mistake.”

“Fareeha, I can assure you it’s not-”

“It’s because of  _ her _ , isn’t it?” Fareeha speaks with less restraint, her knuckles turning white against the teacup. “Everyone expects me to be my mother, just like in the army.”

She feels the tightness in her chest, the tears that prick at the corner of her eyes. 

_ You were a fool to think that these people, people who had worked with her, would think anything different _ , Fareeha thinks. 

“I-I can’t do this. The world needs heroes right now. It needs Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison and Tracer and Mercy and,” she sets the teacup onto the coffee table. “And this, picking me, it was a mistake.”

Fareeha stood, about to make a quick getaway.

“Sit down,” Angela took a breath. “I had felt the same way when Overwatch recruited me. I was  _ seventeen _ , barely done with my schooling when their Scientific Research branch offered me a position as their head of medical research.”

As the commander nervously returned to her seat, Angela draped a blanket around the both of them.

“And like you, I saw a chance to do a great deal of good for the world,” the doctor set her mug onto the table and placed a hand over Fareeha’s. “For the longest time, I was afraid that they must have selected me by accident, that there was no way they’d actually want  _ me _ . But trust me, this isn’t a mistake.”

When Fareeha remained silent, Angela continued.

“I was the last person who wanted Overwatch reinstated, but now I see that I was wrong. We have a chance here, to learn from our mistakes, to make a difference, to help people.”

She could feel sleep tugging on the edges of her consciousness and her jaw protested as she yawned.

“Fareeha, we chose you as Strike Commander because yes, you have military experience that is unparalleled, but beyond that, it is because you are so full of compassion,” Angela continued quietly. “The fact that you are here is proof enough.”

She pulled Fareeha into a hug and as she felt the soldier relax into the embrace, Angela felt safe. Like everything was falling into place. Like this new Overwatch could actually work.

Two hours ago, Angela Ziegler had run out of caffeine, falling asleep at her desk. Now, tucked into the soft fabric of Fareeha’s sweater, the doctor’s willpower to stay awake had just run out.

Lena found them the next morning, both asleep on the couch. She’d snapped a picture before carefully nudging Fareeha awake. 

She squinted against the glow of the chronal accelerator, then again at the Brit.

“How’d you do that?” Lena gestured to Angela, nestled under Fareeha’s arm and still fast asleep. “No one’s ever gotten her to sleep like that before.”

Fareeha, now slightly aware of the numbness in her left arm, peered down at Angela. Her golden hair, which had escaped its usual ponytail earlier in the night, was stuck to her cheek. The rest of it was a fluffy mess and Fareeha wanted nothing more that to run her fingers through the doctor’s hair to untangle it. 

_ It must be so soft and- _

Fareeha tore her gaze away from Angela and balled her hand into a fist beneath the blanket. She hoped that Lena wasn’t a mind reader, banishing the stray thoughts into the recesses of her brain.

“What do you mean,” Fareeha began cautiously. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Doctor Ziegler does not sleep like this?”

Lena paused and stepped back, lips pursed in thought.

“I mean, the Doc sleeps,” Lena supplied. She watched as a wave of concern washed over Fareeha’s features. “But she usually falls asleep at her desk outta exhaustion. The fact that you got her onto the couch and stuff is impressive. Good job, Commander.”

The pilot gave a mock salute, blinking backwards so that she was situated behind the couch. Lena leaned against the wall and blew a stray tuft of hair out of her face. One of the hazards of using the accelerator without goggles.

“So, how’d ya do it?” Lena’s lips curled into a grin. She addresses the back of Fareeha’s head which, she notes is resting against Angela’s. “Ah, some of that Amari charm, innit?”

Fareeha stiffened ever so slightly and glared at Lena out of the corner of her eye. 

In that moment, Fareeha is torn between the urge to smack the Brit between the eyes and the urge to avoid waking Angela. She wisely chose the latter, but flushed anyway at the thought of Angela overhearing such a conversation.

“I’m just sayin’.” Lena stifled her mirth and gave a noncommittal shrug. “The Doc must have a soft spot for ya, or somethin’.”


	4. Haud Omnes Scio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fareeha gets caught in the line of fire, Angela realizes just how much she cares - and what this means for her as a doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haud Omnes Scio - By No Means Do I Know Everything.
> 
> I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery.

“It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. You did everything you could. I shouldn’t have gone into there and dragged you with me,” Fareeha hauled herself up and shook her head. “Angela, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be alive at all.”

The doctor squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles white against the examination table. Angela could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. The tears welled up and suddenly, all the outcomes began to stampede through her mind.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be on this table at all.” She opened her eyes, letting the tears trail down her cheeks. “You’re hurt because you were protecting me.”

Mercy the Hero was fearless and universally loved; a guardian angel always where the world needed her, be it a war-torn battlefield or a city ravaged by natural disaster. Angela Ziegler the Doctor was the one cooped up in research labs, trying to develop technologies that could prevent those wars in the first place; even when the Valkyrie came off, Angela was still tried to bear the world on her shoulders.

But even the strongest of stone cracks.

Angela is rarely caught out of her element; she prides herself on this. There have been few times in her career in which she simply has no control. Fighting through the haze of tears, Angela administers a dose of nanobots.

“C-Commander, I’m going to have to put you under for the nanobots to work fast enough.” Even as the sedatives take effect, the soldier picks up the tremble in the doctor’s voice.

And perhaps that is why Fareeha reaches out, giving Angela’s hand a squeeze before the drugs take full effect.

“You’ve done your best; it’ll be enough. You don’t have to know everything.” Fareeha leans back, flashing the doctor the briefest of smiles. “And Angela?”

“I trust you.”

* * *

 

It is nearing the next morning when someone dares approach Angela, who has been seated across Fareeha’s bed, glancing across the machines every few minutes. A pyramid of discarded coffee cups stands precariously on the table beside her.

“I am sorry to intrude.” A voice echoes from the doorway. “May I sit with you?”

Angela, having long since buried her head in her hands, slowly turns to face the visitor. “Ah, Zenyatta. Of course, but you will have to forgive my appearance.”

If the monk noticed her unkempt hair or the bags under her eyes, he makes no indication. Zenyatta floats across the room to Angela, placing a hand upon her shoulder. It is surprisingly warm, much like a human hand.

“Dr. Ziegler, ‘I know not’ is an acknowledgement of the limits of our knowledge. It is the wise and honest doctor who peppers their speech with this phrase,” he begins. The Omnic pauses before continuing.

“But you know this already.”

For a while, the room is silent, the peace only punctuated by the beep of the machines and the chiming of Zenyatta’s orbs.

“Whether for better or worse, you have been accustomed to chaos and war through your time with Overwatch; it is not simply the helplessness that worries you, is it?”

Angela sighs and considers her words; she has been on the other side of this conversation more times than she can count. For a machine, Zenyatta certainly more than understands how it feels to be human.

As a scientist, Angela always embraced logic. She could reason her way out of any scenario, big or small, with hard facts. Emotions were the very opposite, unpredictable in nature and extremely volatile. Even though the doctor knew that feelings could be boiled down to simple chemical reactions, they felt like so much more.

“I care about her. I care very much, _scheisse_.” The doctor admits, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her voice shakes; every second she speaks, it threatens to betray her.

Zenyatta hovers beside her, silent as if he knows she has more on her mind.

“Thank you, Zenyatta.” Within moments, Angela’s voice is level again. The only indication that she had spoken at all was her beet-red complexion.

“I-I need a favor. I cannot in good conscience be her physician. It’s not right, a conflict of interest. Could I trust you to take care of her?”

“I understand, Doctor.” If his faceplate weren’t solid metal, Zenyatta would most certainly be grinning. Yet, his voice alone is enough to convey this.

“Oh, and Doctor? It seems to me that you and the Commander should speak when she wakes.”

* * *

 

It is weeks later when Zenyatta pays a trip to the medbay.

“Recognized: Tekhartha Zenyatta.” Athena’s voice echoes through the room. However, it is not Angela who comes to greet him, but instead Fareeha.

“Commander,” the Omnic asks. “Your recovery goes well?”

The two chat idly about Fareeha’s physical therapy and the soldier complains about being unable to train with the Raptora for the time being. She knows that she must be grounded but this fact does not make it any less frustrating to be a caged bird.

“Anyway, you came to see Angela?” Fareeha snaps her attention back to the Omnic before her. “She’s just stepped out to make a call, she should be back soon.”

“Actually, it was you whom I was looking for,” Zenyatta replies. “Genji has told me about what a brilliant engineer you are. I was hoping you could give some of my mechanisms a quick glance.”

As Fareeha marvels at some of the Omnic’s inner workings, she finds that it is rather easy to open up to the monk. For a robot just a few years old, he is wise beyond compare. But it is not long before Angela returns to the medbay.

She greets them both, chiding Fareeha for leaving a wrench on a sterile surface, and steps into her office.

“Zenyatta? Angela told me what you said to her before,” Fareeha whispers. “Thank you.”


	5. Tres Tenent Tacitum, Si Duo Sunt Morti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tres Tenent Tacitum, Si Duo Sunt Morti - Three Keep a Secret, If Two Are Dead.
> 
> I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. Above all, I must not play at God.

The rolling green hills, under the watchful vigil of the Alps, have been one of the few places still untouched by the horrors of the Omnic Crisis. At their feet, both headstones bear the Ziegler name, two among the last.

“It’s been over three  _ decades _ .” 

Angela’s voice was lost in the wind. As if she feared the peace lingering over the Swiss countryside. 

“I lost them, and I almost lost you.”

Quietly, the soldier wraps an arm around her and the doctor buries her face into Fareeha’s jacket. For the first time in years, Angela allows herself to weep, to mourn the loss of her parents, to grieve for all the comrades she couldn’t save. 

She allows herself to remember.

As a doctor, Angela knows there is no return from death. Even she of all people doesn’t challenge this absolute. Her “resurrections” are little more than emergency resuscitations, aided by her nanobots. Yet, every loss fuels her to work harder, so perhaps she could save more lives where she had failed.

“Please don’t go anywhere I can’t follow,” Angela whispers. And for once, she allows herself to be afraid. 

“Hey, I’m right here,” comes Fareeha’s reply, the soldier kissing the crown of her girlfriend’s head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

 

Both children of the Crisis, Angela and Fareeha knew war. Yet, neither of them made any effort to escape it. Angela could not turn away from those who needed her help. Fareeha made it her duty to protect all those who could not protect themselves; the  _ udjat _ serves as testament to her mission.

At every step of the way, Angela had always knew Fareeha was there for her. The captain from Helix Security, now an Overwatch Strike Commander, had seen Angela at her best and at her worst.

After a lifetime of secrets behind files and classified briefings, neither of them wished to hide anything from the other. Yet, there was still much left unsaid.

Ana Amari was one of those things.

For Fareeha, Ana was her biggest hero. Yet, even with a military career as decorated as her own, Fareeha still felt the effects of Ana’s long shadow. Her mother had taught her to be brave and inspired her to follow in the footsteps of the Amaris before her (even despite Ana’s protests). 

She had long since forgiven Ana for her absence in her youth; the same calling that took Ana across the globe with Overwatch was now a burden Fareeha carried as well. Forgiving Overwatch, the organization that took her mother, that took everything from her heroes, was something else entirely. Still, being an Amari came with the mantle of a protector and there was no other name as synonymous with hope as Overwatch. 

For Angela, the genius orphan from Zurich, Ana was one of the few people she considered family. As a young doctor, out of place in a behemoth of a paramilitary organization that was Overwatch, Angela was first welcomed by the Egyptian sniper. Even when she spent days cooped up with Torbjorn in his workshop, designing prototypes, Angela was always coaxed out by Ana and the promise of some tea. Despite the fact that Ana was a soldier first and foremost, she understood Angela’s demands for peace, even in the context of a global war.

The death of Ana Amari was as devastating to Angela as it was to Fareeha; the doctor blamed herself for not being there to save the sniper.

Yet on today, the anniversary of Ana’s disappearance, the Watchpoint seemed as sullen as it was all those years ago. The weight of all the unanswered mysteries swirling around Ana’s death and the fall of the organization felt as heavy as ever.

Even the cheerful and boisterous air around Reinhardt was muted. One of the old guard, he was one of the closest people to Ana, and bore the burden of her loss much like Angela did. Despite the fact that Overwatch had failed him as well, the politicians forcing him into retirement before Ana’s disappearance, Reinhardt was one of many who blamed himself.

The gentle giant whispered his respects through his beard, sweeping Fareeha into a hug, before vanishing into the crowd.

The agents each spoke briefly with Fareeha, who only nodded in return. She lingered with Zenyatta afterwards, exchanging words Angela was not privy to. Yet, the soldier seemed to shrink into her beret and uniform.

As the crowd thinned, Angela approached Fareeha with a cup of the Egyptian’s favorite tea, a peace offering. Wordlessly, the soldier sinks into the doctor’s embrace, accepting the mug.

“ _ Schatz _ , do you miss her?” Angela begins cautiously, placing a hand on Fareeha’s. “Your mother?”

Fareeha looks up timidly and meets the doctor’s gaze. 

“There seems to be more on your mind,” Angela continues when Fareeha makes no reply. “I’m here for you, whatever it is.”

There was one thing Fareeha could not forgive. Certainly, she could understand Ana’s choice to disappear into the shadows, leaving an organization that was failing the world, that had failed her, but Fareeha could not see it as anything other than  _ cowardly _ to cause pain to people who also cared, like Angela or Reinhardt.

The guilt in the doctor’s face makes Fareeha’s heart twist. She closes her eyes and exhales, feeling the knot untangle itself.

“Angela,” Fareeha begins softly. “I want to tell you something.”

Yet, in all the time Angela has known Fareeha, the soldier had never spoken with such fear. She peers up at the Egyptian with concern, her brow furrowing.

_ Was something wrong? _

In her panic, Angela runs through a list of all the possibilities in her mind. She’s about to cross-reference them with Fareeha’s anxieties when the soldier cups her cheek.

“Shh, I promise you, it’s good news,” says Fareeha, pressing a kiss atop Angela’s head. “Just come with me, okay?”

The doctor nods and wordlessly follows her girlfriend back to their shared quarters. Fareeha has relaxed, her usual confident demeanor settling back into place, yet the Egyptian fidgets with her beret.

As the door slides shut, Fareeha shifts from foot to foot.

_ It’s now or never, no more secrets. _

“She’s alive. My mother is alive,” she blurts out with a single breath. “I am sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Latin for this chapter title may very well be wrong. I always forget how conditional clauses work and whether I need the subjunctive. Yet, at the same time, I'm graduating and cannot be bothered to dig up my notes. Ya boi is free.


	6. Memento Mori, Memento Vivere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Memento Mori, Memento Vivere - Remember That I Will Die, Remember to Live.
> 
> I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.

When Fareeha proclaimed that her mother was alive, Angela stood there in shock. There was a moment when even to Angela, who blurs the line between life and death more with each day, the revelation seemed like a total lie.

Now, seeing the old sniper, Angela believed less and less. She remembered the lieutenant commander as fearless and strong, but compassionate above all else. The woman standing before her was tired, the lines around her eyes spoke to her age. She kept a white-knuckled grip on her rifle with one hand, the other on Fareeha’s arm. Even without the mask, the old soldier seemed to hide behind her hood and eye patch. Only the _wedjat_ that peeked out identified her as Ana Amari, yet there was resilience in her spirit, this much Angela could tell.

 _No_ , a voiced seemed to say. _Ana Amari is dead. This is the Shrike._

Just liked Ana had changed, so had Angela. Gone was the young girl from Zurich who wanted to bring everyone back. Gone was the naive medical student who joined Overwatch with dreams to save the world. Gone was the woman who broke down testifying at the UN. At thirty-seven, Angela Ziegler faced a ghost from her past, where a younger Angela may have wanted to sink into the ground.

 _“Leave us for a moment, Fareeha,”_ Ana whispered to her daughter in Arabic. Fareeha simply nodded, looking over at Angela and meeting her eyes. The old sniper shouldered the rifle, taking her cup of tea from Fareeha wordlessly.

 _“Mother, she deserves the truth,”_ came the stern reply. As she turned back to her mother, Fareeha gave her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek, calming the doctor’s nerves. She slipped into the interrogation room, leaving only Angela and Ana in the hall.

Content to let the other woman speak, Ana sipped at her tea, making eye contact across the rim of her pink teacup.

“I suppose neither of us expected to be back here.” It was the Swiss doctor who broke the silence first with a sigh, voice wavering at the edges. Perhaps part of it felt wrong, standing in the wings of an organization that had failed them both.

“And yet, here we are.” Ana smiles, the crow’s feet and lines around her mouth crinkling. She runs her fingertips along a dusty insignia by the door. “I thought against a lifetime in the military, but at the end of the day, I couldn’t sit by anymore. I suspect you feel the same, Doctor.”

Even after all this time, Ana was as astute as ever. And so, the old sniper told Angela the same tale she’d regaled to Fareeha in the letter. “Overwatch may have left me behind, but I will never turn my back on those who need me.”

“I should have been there,” Angela looks away. There is only so long she can fight the tightness in here chest; she’s about to crumble. “We should’ve tried harder to find you, even after the mission.”

“But Zurich?” Ana interrupts, her matronly tone putting Angela at ease, if only briefly. She sweeps the doctor into a hug.

“But Zurich,” came the affirmative. Her tears fall onto the sniper’s cloak.

* * *

The shade bristled, flickering unstably before recomposing into its hooded form. The Reaper.

Angela knew him as the former Strike Commander, from the days of the Crisis. To Fareeha, Gabriel Reyes was practically family. One of the first holovids of baby Fareeha was a recording of the infant scaling Gabe’s cloak to tug at his beard. He loved her as one of his own kids ever since. As Fareeha was growing up, any time she’d visit base, the two of them would be inseparable.

 _Thicker than thieves,_ Ana used to say.

“Uncle Gabe, what happened?” Fareeha whispers through the comms. Her heart twists; the man is barely recognizable one of her childhood heroes, if he could be called a man at all now. She’d never expected him to be on the other side of the glass.

 _“I haven’t been heard that in a long time_ _,”_ a voice growls from the shadows. The Reaper’s voice reverberates through the containment unit; it sounds like he’s standing right next to her. Her hair stands on end.

“I’m sorry.” Fareeha speaks to the glass, a one-way mirror. Her tone is clipped, almost indistinguishable from the voice she bears as a Strike Commander herself. Even through the walls, his burning eyes track her easily.

 _“It’s their fault_ ,” he roared, composure breaking. “How _dare you stand with those traitors?”_

“We’ll help, I promise. Please, talk to me, I’m not giving up on you.” The Egyptian exhales, trying (and failing) to maintain her composure; Fareeha feels the tears welling up. “Who did this to you, _tío_?”

_“Turn around and ask her for yourself. Isn't that right, Doctor Ziegler?"_

The black tendrils curl outwards, pressing against the glass. They shudder, as if laughing. This had to be a trick. Some Talon ruse to get them to turn on each other. That was the only thing that made sense. The Reaper would have never turned himself into their custody just to talk. Yet, when Fareeha faced Angela, she knew it to be fact.

 _“Too foolish and trusting to see the truth. Even your half blind mother can see better than you, Amari.”_ The Reaper cackles, his greatest weapon was never a just a pair of shotguns.

Fareeha reels, the tears finally falling. It was all a mistake. Maybe she was wrong, about leaving Helix, about Overwatch, about Angela - there was so much she didn't know, and still doesn't know. The world needs heroes, but maybe Fareeha's not the hero she always wanted to be. Maybe none of them are. And, for the first time in years, she runs.

It takes everything Angela has not to run after her.

“You have every right to hate me,” Angela chokes out instead. There is a burning in her throat and she swallows thickly, pushing past the wave of emotion that threatens to consume her. “But you have no right to take it out on Fareeha.”

 _“You’re right, as always, Doctor,”_ the voice spat, curling venomously under her skin. _“This is your fault.”_

Her shaking fists clench at her sides and Angela has half a mind to run after her girlfriend, yet she knows that she did not become a leading researcher in her field by turning tail. Under the Reaper’s gaze, she takes a deep breath and stabilizes herself before it all begins to snowball.

“Gabriel, you and I both know this is not entirely my doing,” Angela begins, reaching out to turn off the one-way mirror. For the first time in years, she looks an old friend in the eye. Her voice is steady as she levels her gaze. “There was no way I could have known what Moira, and you, did when I tried to resurrect you at Zurich.”

* * *

In the moments that followed the explosion at the Swiss HQ, nothing was certain. Agents scrambled to evacuate on the fleet of MV-261 Orcas, only to discover that the jets were lined with explosives. The carriers that lingered overhead were Talon \- that pointed logo would be emblazoned in the minds of millions for years to come as the beast that dealt the final blow on Overwatch. After what felt like hours, the ships scattered and Angela pulled herself out of a saferoom in what remained in the research labs, Caduceus staff in hand. The only truth that remained was that the facts were long dead and with them, hope.

_Everything was burning. It was all gone._

Whatever rose from the ashes wasn’t going to be the Overwatch the world once knew, just like how Gabriel Reyes’ death birthed the Reaper.

She had scrambled in the rubble, digging desperately wherever her equipment detected vitals. When she’d finally reached Gabriel, he was a good _fifteen minutes_ past the resurrection window. Angela panicked, he was the first warm body she’d found, one of the only people she knew she could trust.

So, against all judgement she did it. And against all better judgement, Angela Ziegler made a terrible mistake. She knew it from the moment she watched Gabriel Reyes die again and again, the nanobots unable to stabilize him, reacting volatilely with his altered biology - both in the super soldier enhancements and Moira's corrupted nanotech.

Now, at thirty-seven, Angela Ziegler faced what she thought to be her greatest mistake.

Ana was the first to forgive her, the old soldier fully understanding the hard choices of war. Fareeha came next, after avoiding the doctor for weeks. She sought Angela out in the medbay, quietly engulfing her in a hug.

 _It was wrong. I can see why you did it but_ , said she. _Please make this right, habibti._

Yet, Angela could not find it within her to forgive herself. She had suspicions for years after Zurich, but she was always too afraid to accept what she knew.

* * *

“I don’t know if your condition can be reversed.” She wasn’t expecting Gabriel to forgive her, the bags under her eyes were more than testament to that. Yet, the least she owed him was an apology. Angela knew this much to be true. “In the aftermath of the explosion, my technology was destabilized. The nanobots seem to have...melded to you. I-I didn't know. I’m sorry.”

 _“I can’t forgive you, but it was never just about this.”_   He gestures to the smoke pooling at his feet with a sigh.

Afterwards, the Reaper said little to the doctor, only talking to Fareeha. On occasion she’d trusted him enough to enter the containment unit, where she sat right now. Under the glare of the observation lamps, the Egyptian seated herself in a corner of the cell before addressing the figure that began to materialize in the opposite direction.

“Why have you been hunting us?” Fareeha tosses a list of the Reaper’s victims at his feet. “You say you haven’t been working with Talon.”

 _"Overwatch didn’t just fall apart because of one fight between me and Morrison._ ”

Gabriel solidifies, giving the holopad a cursory glance. For a moment, he looks like the uncle she once knew. The man that once seemed so much larger than life shrinks before her gaze. He rubs at his beard (what’s left of it, at least) before replying.

 _“The names on that list are sleeper agents for Talon_ _,”_ he rasps. _“Some unknowingly, like Amelie Lacroix was.”_

“You have everything you need to take them down, yet you’re here.” Fareeha frowns. “Why?”

While Talon was one of the few organizations with the resources to sustain the Reaper, Gabriel had other motives. Perhaps he was working with Talon to lay his own demons to rest. It was well known that Gabriel had long suspected that there were Talon plants within Overwatch before the fall.

_“To warn you, Amari. Because Talon didn’t stop after Overwatch.”_

“Where else?” The Egyptian demands. 

 _“Do you really believe Helix Security had so many breaches by pure accident?_ _”_ Gabriel looked her dead in the eye. _“Don’t worry, I have a score to settle. Talon isn’t going to be able to pull the same stunt twice, kid.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Churned out this slightly longer chappie in record time. Didn't wanna get hit with a possible lore train and have to revise everything.
> 
>  
> 
> [Support Me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/P5P0EDWU)
> 
>  
> 
> 7/5/17 PATCH NOTES: Removed leading whitespace, stability improvements.  
> 8/21/17 PATCH NOTES: Adjusted Reaper's dialogue and formatting.


	7. Ab Ovo Usque Ad Mala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ab Ovo Usque Ad Mala - From eggs to apples. A Roman phrase to describe the completion of a meal, from the first dish of eggs to a dessert of apples.
> 
> I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

_ Tick, tock. _

The soldier’s watch echoes off the spartan walls. Fareeha Amari squints at the device, by her estimation, Angela had been in the lab for almost thirty-six hours. Knowing her girlfriend, Fareeha tucks a bookmark into her novel and pads out of the common area; the doctor probably hadn’t eaten since the last time Fareeha brought her food.

She passes by the kitchen, around Jesse, who’s experimenting with his next culinary masterpiece, to grab Angela’s favorites. It smells heavenly and, by her estimation, he’s about to bake a pie of some sort.

(He doesn’t wear the denim apron with all the pockets otherwise. Regular cooking is done in the ‘Kiss the Cowboy’ apron, no exceptions.)

Jesse eyes her as well, easily picking up that Fareeha’s food run is for Angela. He takes one flour-covered hand off the rolling pin to give the strike commander a finger gun salute.

“Tell our good doctor that I’ll stop with the cigars,” the cowboy shoots her a grin. “If she remembers to come outta her lab once in awhile, alright?”

“Will do, Jesse.” Just before she leaves, Fareeha spots the bowl of apples next to Jesse. “Hey, could I borrow one of those?”

“So yer gonna give it back?” The cowboy teases, raising an eyebrow, as he tosses one to her easily. “Don’t worry, I’m just pulling your leg, ‘Ree. I don’t actually need all of ‘em for the pie.”

_ Tick, tock. _

Fareeha checks her watch again as she walks through the empty halls. Old posters hang above doorways to empty rooms. Reinhardt’s smiling face beams at her from the walls. So does her mother’s. She swallows down the wave of nostalgia; Fareeha certainly remembers all the time she spent at bases in her youth.

Overwatch may be back, but they have a lot of work to do.

Fareeha makes it to the medbay in record time, dropping off the food with a kiss to Angela’s temple.

“Don’t forget to eat,  _ ya amar _ .”

Angela greets her in kind and Fareeha manages to steal the doctor away from her research long enough to cuddle her while she eats. The doctor melts into her girlfriend’s embrace as Fareeha traces circles idly on her arms. Angela falls asleep for a short while, fiddling with the soldier’s hands. 

“Thank you, darling.”

Fareeha looks over the mess of blonde hair; the image of her girlfriend snoring into her chest fills her heart with such fondness she just might explode.

_ Alhamdulillah for this woman _ , Fareeha whispers to herself, pressing a kiss into Angela’s hair. Another kiss when the doctor wakes. Eventually, the doctor peels herself away to her desk again.

_ Tick, tock. _

Even between missions, the doctor was hard at work. Whether acting as an extra pair of eyes for cases all over the globe or pursuing her own research, Angela was in the medbay nearly 24/7.

She works on many things, Fareeha noted. But, when the strike commander asked Athena what Angela was prioritizing, the AI had told her that the doctor still blamed herself for the Reaper. She’d been holed up in the medbay since they discovered that the Talon leader was Gabriel. None of them could’ve known. 

_ Intellectuals solve problems, but geniuses - they’re supposed to prevent them _ , she had repeated when Fareeha voiced her concern last.  _ I can’t let that happen again. _

Working so much in her lab was Angela’s way of grieving, Fareeha understood that much. She herself would do the same in her workshop when troubled.

Fareeha thumbed past the last page of her book. Between the amber glow of the sunset and the growl from her stomach, it was nearly time for dinner. She glanced at her watch to confirm her suspicions. It was more than time to take a break.

Experience also taught her that Angela wouldn’t leave the lab easily. Time for a more roudabout approach.

“So, is it true, then?” Fareeha asked from the medbay couch, which has become one of the Egyptian’s regular haunts.

“Is what true,  _ schatz _ ?” Came the reply. Angela doesn’t skip a beat. 

“Y’know? That thing about apples?” A pregnant pause followed. Laughter creeps through Fareeha’s voice as she delivered the punchline. “That an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Angela doesn’t have to look at her girlfriend to know that she’s grinning ear to ear, like a Cheshire cat. Instead, she sighs, unsure of whether to ignore the joke or to laugh. Athena answers for her.

“No, Strike Commander, there is no evidence to suggest that fruit would harm or repel Doctor Ziegler.”

(Since the strike team started warming up to each other, their banter’s gotten so infectious the AI started to learn sass protocols.)

“Thank you for that, Athena.”

Still on her side, Fareeha tosses the apple in the general direction of Angela. It nearly collides with the doctor’s coffee. The glare Angela sends her over the journals on her desk, however, meets its mark.

“And, even if it did,” Angela begins. “There wouldn’t be anything in the world that could keep me apart from you.”

Fareeha smiles sheepishly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I love you?”

“I love you too,  _ musli _ . But oh, if only everyone could see the scary Strike Commander now,” Angela grins across her desk, sitting back down. Even through all the stacks of paper littering her desk, the soldier can hear the mirth in her girlfriend’s voice. “You’re a big baby, you know that?”

“But I’m your big baby, right?” Without missing a beat, Fareeha deadpans.

“Of course.” A laugh. It is the best medicine, after all. Day by day, she feels herself falling for Fareeha Amari. 

She feels it when they soar above the clouds on a mission. In the way she knows how Fareeha takes her tea, and how Fareeha knows she takes her coffee. In the way Fareeha curls around her at night. She feels it in the way everything in the world seems to slow down when they’re together.

_ I love her _ , Angela realizes. And, for once, she’s not afraid.

“Oh, come here already,” Angela says. Fareeha hauls herself off the sofa, leaving behind a nest of blankets and cushions. The doctor notes that the couch sports a Fareeha-shaped indentation as of late, a side effect of all the long hours the Egyptian has spent keeping her company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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